planets not informed so that they could unite more strongly in the face of the mutual danger and thus progress together?”
“It was decided by the UP that a common danger does not necessarily unite the human race. The member planets include almost every race and color, socioeconomic system, religion and political governmental form that man has developed over the ages. Many of these, if not all, would reject progress if it threatened their institutions. For instance, a planet with a feudalistic social system would reject any attempts to have a system of free enterprise foisted upon it, no matter what such a change might mean in the way of progress. Another example is the early days of nuclear weapons on Earth. The whole world was faced with destruction, but that did not stop the rush toward war on the part of conflicting socioeconomic systems. Both sides would rather have pulled the whole race down, rather than give up its institutions. Better dead than red, was the slogan on one side, and the opposing side had slogans as strong or stronger. Mutual danger does not necessarily unite the race.”
The voice said musingly, “Then the Department of Justice and its cloak-and-dagger arm, Section G, does not believe that Amazonia would necessarily give up its own institutions in the face of a common danger to the race.”
It was not exactly a question. Ronny Bronston said nothing.
Somebody said, “We’ve already got more information than we need to bring this to the immediate attention of the Hippolyte.”
The authoritive voice rapped, “Put this man under tight guard. Everyone present in this room is to consider herself bound by top priority security. Under no circumstances can anything revealed here be spread. Is that clear?”
There were murmers of earnest assent.
Ronny felt himself being lifted, mattress, arm, leg and head clamps and all from the table onto a hospital operating room cart. He still stared at the ceiling, uncaringly.
He felt himself pushed through the door into the corridor. He could sense the warriors about him, but didn’t care their number or where they were taking him.
They were taking him to what seemed a very ordinary hospital room. He was lifted from the cart and placed on a bed.
“Should we undress him and put him under the sheets?” one of the guards said.
“Why?” another said impatiently. “This boy isn’t going to do any sleeping for a good long while. If you ask me, the Hippolyte, the full council and half the scientists in Paphlagonia will be ripping over here within the half hour. Then they’ll have our boy here stuck like a pin cushion with more Scop and Come-Along. He’ll be lucky if they take time out in the next forty-eight hours to give him some nourishment.”
“We shouldn’t be talking in front of him.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we shouldn’t.”
“He’s not going to repeat anything to anybody.”
“How do you know? Did you hear what Marpesia called him? The triggerman of Sidney Jakes. Maybe he doesn’t look like much, but that Section G sounds like a rugged outfit and he’s evidently one of their top trouble- shooters.”
“So what?”
“So we shouldn’t talk in front of him. Some day he might get away from us, or be freed for one reason or the other.”
The other snorted contempt of that opinion.
“Well, let’s go out in the hall and talk. I’m bursting with all this. I’ve got to discuss it with somebody.”
“Leave him here alone?”
“In the name of Artimis, what could possibly happen to him? He’s got clamps an elephant couldn’t break. Besides that, he’s full of Come-Along and Scop, and neither will wear off for hours, He’ll obey anybody’s orders until the stuff wears off.”
A face bent over him.
“Ronald Bronston, don’t you move from this bed, understand?”
“Yes.”
He heard the door open and close and assumed he was alone. He had spilled enough of the inner workings of Section G and the ultimate purpose of United Planets to tear down the work of tens of thousands of dedicated men.
There was small comfort in the fact that as yet they hadn’t quite drained him of the secrets his mind held. For one thing, they’d got an inadequate picture of the threat of the aliens. They hadn’t asked enough questions to bring out all the ramifications. However, there was no reason to believe that in the immediate future he wouldn’t spill every bean.
He had no doubts whatsoever that within days Amazonia would broadcast his revelations. Then every member planet in the confederation which feared interference with its institutions would drop away from United Planets. The work of centuries would be ended within within weeks. And all because of Ronald Bronston.
He cursed the fact that he had ever attended that Octagon reception. They should have known better. It was a tradition of Section G to avoid the public eye.
He heard a door open. Evidently, one of his guards returning, just to check. What was there to check? He couldn’t move a muscle and even had he been able to, he had been given orders to remain in this bed, and it was impossible to disobey.
He heard footsteps approaching him across the room, and frowned that they seemed to be stealthy.
A face looked down into his. A face that was grinning amusement.
She spoke in whisper. “Cutey, I hear you’ve got yourself into some sort of trouble.”
It was Minythyia. How had she ever gotten into the room?
She began fussing with his bonds, muttering, “How’d you get into this mess?”
“One of the Hippolyte’s council recognized me,” Ronny said.
She looked up and shot a puzzled glance at him, even as she worked, as though wondering at the Zombie-like inflection of his voice.
“You’re under Scop, aren’t you?”
Yes.”
“Oh, oh. I’m probably getting myself into trouble. Clete didn’t know what it was you had supposedly done. You got anything else in you? Or do you know?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Come-Along.”
“So! Well, that makes things easier. Get up out of that bed, Cutey.”
Her order countermanded the one the guard had given him. He arose and looked at her.
Minythyia said, “You look awful with that stuff in you. We’ve got to get out of here. Follow me.”
He followed her, noting that there were two doors to the room. He assumed that through one his guards had passed into the hospital corridor. In fact, he could indistinctly hear their voices.
He followed her through the other door. There was another hospital room, this one empty, on the other side. She hurried through this, he immediately behind. She grasped the knob of the door on the far side of the room and opened it. The room beyond was occupied by an elderly person, in bed.
Minythyia said apologetically, “Sorry to bother you again. That nardy door is still locked and this is the only way to get through.”
The patient in the bed murmered something indistinctly.
They passed through the door beyond of that room too and Ronny Bronston found himself, still following the Amazon warrior, in a corridor. It came to him for the first time that his rescuer, if that was her role, was for the first time he had seen her, not garbed in her usual regular uniform. In fact, her dress differed little from his own. A flowing, tunic-like affair that presented her admittedly curvaceous body to much better effect than had the military outfit which tended to suppress breast and hips.
They hurried along the deserted corridor which opened in turn to still another. It was larger and Minythyia slowed her pace, as must needs he as well since her order had been to
